Slipped
by reppad98
Summary: Brock has finally managed to pluck up the courage to talk to girl of his dreams, after many long days – okay, a few hours – of admiration from afar. Yet somehow he ends up with an angry, wet and drunk waitress in his house. One-shot. GymShipping. AU. Fourth place in Empress Empoleon's third round on the Pokewrite Forum.


**A/N: **Thanks for clicking on this story! I really hope you enjoy it! By the way, this is my entry for Empress Empoleon's third challenge on the Pokewrite Forum.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon.**

* * *

**Slipped**

_How to get her attention…_ a young man wondered, staring at a girl in bikini sunbathing. She was the one, he was sure of that.

She was just perfect. Red hair that reached her shoulders. Fierce blue eyes hidden by her dark sunglasses. Long, pale legs. A beautifully formed body… It was a surprise he wasn't drooling yet, so enchanted he was by her appearance.

Oh, but it wasn't just her appearance, he knew that. She could be feisty, which showed clearly when she noticed him staring at her, because she lifted up her sunglasses and gave him a glare. Embarrassed at being caught, Brock quickly looked away. Yes, she had a temper, he knew that. But when she smiled, oh when she smiled, her face would light up and his whole world would be perfect.

_But how to start a conversation? _Brock thought. _Walking by casually and totally cool, and then winking at her, perhaps? Or keeping it simple, and just telling her that she's beautiful?_

Sighing, he ran a hand through his spiky dark hair.

_I need something cool, something that will tell her that we're made for each other… Oh, I know! "Is your name Summer? Because you're hot!"_ A smile spread across his tanned face, knowing he had just thought of the mostperfect pick up line ever.

Staring at her, the love of his life, he started to make his way towards her. Walking around the pool, his eyes only set on her, he ignored everything around him. He didn't notice the people laughing and talking, didn't see the colorful parasols and patio tables, didn't feel the slippery, wet tiles under his feet, didn't smell the chlorine from the pool – it was just her.

Her hair, he could see every separate, beautiful strand. Her chest, he could see it rising and falling with every breath she took. Her pink lips, he could see them being slightly parted and how her tong wetted them. Her gorgeou-

"Ouch!"

"Ah!"

Not having been paying attention to where he was going, Brock had now bumped into a waitress, who herself had been distracted at a very inconvenient moment. The waitress lost her footing on the wet floor and grabbed the closest thing to keep her from falling in the pool, which happened to be him. Brock, also not standing very stable, felt himself being pulled into the pool as well.

Not wanting to embarrass himself in front of the love of his life, he grabbed the nearest thing for support, which turned out to be a parasol. Of course, a weak thing like that could never hold two people, and thus fell over too, taking all the other parasols and patio tables – which had been connected together with some wires, to prevent theft – with it.

In less than three seconds all the tables and parasols were fallen over, a few even being pulled in the water, together with the waitress and our poor hero Brock. Drinks and food were spilled everywhere, glass was lying scattered over the ground, people were cursing and splattered wet. It was, in one word, chaos.

Brock and the waitress resurfaced spluttering and coughing. Eyes wide, they both looked around at the panic and the mess. The waitress opened her mouth the say something, but closed it again when she noticed a man approaching the them. Despite his colorful shorts and red flip-flops, the man with slicked back dark hair looked very authoritarian.

"You!" he spat at the waitress in the pool. "You caused this all! Glass on the ground, pool dirty, tables broken, parasols wet, visitors panicking- your fault! You'll clean it all up, you understand that, missy?"

The man – obviously her boss – looked threateningly at her.

"Yes, yes, of course, sir," the wet waitress quickly answered.

"Good," he grumbled at her. Then he turned to the guests, apologizing fervently, saying that the pool had to be closed early now, that they sadly had to leave, within ten minutes even.

Grumbling, the visitors started to make their way out, a few yelling something about an indemnification. The owner just smiled at them, nodded and agreed, promising that, yes, of course something would be done about it.

After finally managing to calm down the angry guests, he turned back to the waitress, who was still in the pool, a bit stupefied at what had happened.

"You better get started," he hissed at her. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

The man sharply turned on his heels and walked away, his flip-flops clicking comically on the tiles.

Brock finally awoke out of his daze, and swam to the edge of the pool. He just wanted to leave, get away from this horrible, embarrassing day, crawl into his bed and just forget about this all. He was about to climb out when a small, strong hand pulled him back in.

"Oh no mister, you don't," the waitress hissed at him. Her wet, short red hair stuck to her face and her cerulean eyes were blazing at him. In his whole life he had never felt intimidated by a woman – other than his mother and grandmother – but this small girl with her nails painfully digging in his upper arm, seemed to do the trick.

"W- what?" the tanned man stuttered confused.

"You heard me," she said a bit louder. "It's your fault, you caused all this, no way I'm going to let you get away with this, you got that?"

"My- my fault? It wasn't my fault!" Brock replied defensively.

"You weren't paying attention to where you were going!" she argued. "You were too caught up in staring at Miss Long-Legs!"

"Er…" He didn't have a reply to that.

"That's what I thought," the girl said smugly. "Now, in that cabinet there, in the right corner, are some brooms. Go get them."

Brock nodded, too scared to say anything else, and got out of the pool. About to get the brooms, he realized something.

"Hey, what are you going to-" he started to ask, but when he turned around to look at the waitress, she was gone. _Heh?_ Brock thought confused. _She can't just have disappeared in thin air, right?_

The dark-haired man looked around, confused at where the girl could've gone. When he couldn't find her and panic was about to set in, he noticed bubbles and a dark figure coming to the surface of the pool. Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked how the girl pushed a patio table out of the pool. She did have pretty arms, he noticed.

"What?" she snapped, noticing him staring at her.

"Nothing, nothing," Brock quickly replied and started to make his way to the cabinet, careful not to step on the broken glass. _I need something to protect my feet_, he thought frustrated. Small wounds on the sole of his feet were stinging painfully when he finally reached the small depository.

It took him some time before he found the brooms in the dark cabinet, and outside he heard some voices speaking – the waitress and her boss, he supposed. Before he brought the brooms to the girl, he quickly picked up his sandals – he refused to get his feet all bloody and hurt because that girl had decided to be bossy.

After putting them on his hurt feet, he walked back to the girl, who was still fuming after her conversation with her boss. Brock noticed how all the patio tables were now out of the pool, and the parasols that had gotten wet were now placed in the sun to dry.

"Here, I got the brooms." He gave her a winning smile, and handed her one of the brooms.

"Thanks," she grumbled, not sounding very grateful, and pulled the broom out of his hands. A bit hurt he watched her getting started, and also noticed how her soaked uniform clung to her small body. He felt his mouth run dry. Quickly Brock shook his head – she very obviously wasn't interested in him.

Half an hour later, they had managed to sweep all the broken glass together, and were now putting all the patio tables and parasols in their right places. The air around them was filled with awkwardness, because they hadn't spoken a word to each other since they had gotten started.

"So… I'll go start the extra cleaning program for the pool, okay?" The redheaded girl looked at him, apparently expecting some answer.

"Uh, yeah, sure," he replied, not quite sure what to do now. She returned a few minutes later, and gave him a small smile.

"Well, we're finished, so we can part ways and pray we never meet again, haha." She laughed, but it sounded forced.

Brock grinned awkwardly, and made a gesture, meaning that she could lead the way.

This was a quite big outdoor pool, surrounded by first a few yards of tiles, with patio tables and chairs placed on it, and then by a large grassy field. In summer, this pool was big business, and the owner made a lot of money – not only with the pool, but also with the sales of several snacks, ice-creams and drinks. Diving boards and a few water slides had been added to satisfy the more daring visitors, and recently two hot tubs had been built. Big fences around the area separated the pool and its surroundings from non-paying visitors and other unwanted guests.

The redhead and Brock had now reached the gates, but somehow the waitress didn't manage to open it.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath.

"What is it?" Brock immediately asked with a sinking feeling.

"I think it's locked," she said, using brute force now, and pulling at the handle.

"Here, let me try," he said, pushing her out of the way. But neither the young man managed to open the door.

"Well, damn," Brock cursed when he after his third try pulled the handle out of the door.

"Ugh, dammit!" the girl swore. Suddenly, her face lit up. "There's an emergency exit in the changing rooms!"

Without another word, she sprinted off towards the changing rooms, leaving him standing with the door handle in his hand. Not knowing what else to do with it, he put it back in the door, even though it was now useless.

Brock didn't need to wait for her to come back to know that those doors were locked as well – seeing her wildly pulling at one and hearing her yelling something was prove enough.

Fuming, the waitress returned, her cheeks red. _Cute_, he found himself thinking. With a quick shake of his head, he shook those thoughts away.

"We're locked in!" she roared. "Fuck! That asshole just locked us in!"

"But- but why would he do something like that? I mean, I'm a paying customer…" Brock replied confused. Despite feeling frustrated too, he kept his calm.

"I don't know, okay? He's just a jerk!" she responded heatedly. After a moment of silence she added a bit more calmly, "Although I believe you were in the cabinet when he left, so he probably didn't see you…"

Silence fell over the two, and Brock couldn't believe that he would have to spend his night locked in an outdoor pool. There had to be a solution… his eyes travelled over the pool, the tables, the fence- The fence!

"The fence is our way out!" he said excitedly to the girl. Her eyes started to sparkle when she understood what he meant. She quickly grabbed a table and placed it next to the fence, then climbed up on it.

"Ugh, it's still too high!" the redhead said frustrated.

"I'll lift you up," Brock immediately said.

"Huh?" Her head whipped around to look at him, only to see that the young man was already climbing on the table.

"Here you go," he said, wrapping his arms around her middle and then lifting her up, not even giving her time to protest.

Without too much trouble the girl managed to lift herself up the fence, then jumped off on the other side. Gratefully, she gave him a bright smile, causing his heart rate to speed up.

Brock was about to climb over the fence too – he was tall enough to reach it without any support other than the table – when he suddenly thought of something. After jumping off the table and running back to his stuff, he quickly pulled his shirt over his head and put his shorts back on, then grabbed his towel, and went back to the fence.

_Climbing over a fence is a piece of cake for a muscular man like me_, he thought satisfied when he landed on both his feet on the other side.

A soft rumble in the distance was heard, and threateningly dark clouds in the sky were coming closer.

"It's going to rain," Brock stated. "Well, I'll be off. It was nice working with you, girl," he finished with a wink.

"You can't leave me like this!" the red-haired girl exclaimed, an undertone of panic in her voice.

With his eyebrows raised he looked at her.

"My clothes and keys and everything are still in the changing rooms! I can't go home! And that's _your_ fault!" Her voice got angrier and angrier as she continued. "So you better think of something, mister!"

"How is that my fault?" Brock defended himself. _How dare she get so angry? This isn't my fault!_

"Because you caused this mess, remember? _You_ bumped into _me_!"

Clenching his fists, he snapped at her, "Fine! You can come with me!"

Stamping away, and ignoring the girl trailing after him, he thought about this whole situation. _Ugh, I don't get why I liked her just a minute ago! She's so bossy. And loud. And big-mouthed. And pretty…_

At that thought, he kicked his left foot in the pavement, then cringed from the pain. A few drops of rain started to fall, and Brock quickened his pace to get to his car in time. The waitress hastened after him. The young man quickly opened the doors and got into the car, the girl following his example.

Brock glanced at the still wet waitress, and sighed. He could never stay angry long, he knew that. Especially not at pretty girls.

"Here," he said curtly, handing her his towel.

"Thanks," she snapped, pulling it out of his hand a bit roughly.

When he started the car, he saw how the rain started to fall faster and faster. _Shame_, he thought. _It had been such a beautiful day today._

The drive home was filled with silence, both he and the girl not knowing what to say. It was then when he finally realized that he still didn't know her name.

He parked his car and lead the way to his front door, running through the now pouring rain. He held the door open for the young woman, reminding his manners even in moments like this.

Soaked for the second time this day, he and the waitress stood dripping in his small hallway.

"I'll go get some towels," Brock said and made his way to the bathroom. He owned this not big apartment for quite some years now, and was still happy in it. It had a large living room, a cozy kitchen, two bedrooms and a small bathroom. He was also one of the lucky ones that owned a nice little garden. Yes, he was quite satisfied with his home.

He handed the nameless girl a towel and she started drying her hair. He watched her for a moment, then shook himself out of his daze and started to dry himself off too.

"You want some dry clothes?" The question was out of his mouth before he thought about it.

"Erm… yeah, that would be nice, thanks," the girl answered, a bit surprised at his offer.

Brock went back upstairs and looked for his smallest shirt and shorts, and picked out some clothing for himself as well.

Handing her the clothes, he said, "I'm Brock Harrison, by the way."

Still a bit alert, she replied, "Misty Waterflower."

"Bathroom is upstairs," he responded with a smile. She gave him a small, careful smile in return.

When she was upstairs, Brock quickly changed his wet clothes for dry ones, then started to prepare a small meal. Usually, he would eat alone and keep it simple, now he did a bit more his best – it wasn't every day that he had a pretty guest staying in his house.

Again, he shook his head. Nothing was going to happen between them, it was fairly obvious that she wasn't interested in him.

When Misty returned – wearing his clothes and her short red hair neatly brushed – Brock felt his breath hitch for a moment. He silently berated himself and stepped on his own toe on purpose.

"Well, I made dinner. You want some?" he offered with a pained smile.

"You… made dinner?" Misty asked a little surprised.

Puffing out his chest, he replied with a proud, "Yes, I did. I'm a pretty good cook, if I say so myself."

She gave him a small grin – the awkwardness slowly seemed to fade away.

"Well, then, would love to," Misty said, sitting down.

Most of dinner was spent in silence, just sporadically they said something about how the food tasted, or, when a thunderclap was heard, about the rubbish weather.

"So Misty, how old are you?" Brock asked, putting away the dishes in the dishwasher. "And why is a pretty girl like you working as a waitress?"

"Twenty-two," she replied, a bit of a blush coloring her cheeks. She ignored the second question as she asked one of her own. "And you? How old are you, and why do you spend your time making googly eyes at pretty women with whom you never stand a chance?"

"Ouch, that hurts." Brock grinned, liking her bluntness. "I'm twenty-six, and what can I say? I'm a guy who likes beautiful women."

"But the beautiful women don't like you," she replied with a smirk.

"Yeah, they made pretty clear on multiple occasions…" he trailed off, still a small grin on his face. He didn't mind her being so rude, in fact, he thought it was refreshing.

"You want something to drink? Tea, coffee, coke, water?" Brock offered after a moment of silence.

"Do you have something stronger, by any chance?" the redhead asked.

"Bad girl eh?" He laughed. "I'll have a look."

A minute later Brock returned holding a few bottles. "These were left here after my last party, not quite sure what it is, but it smells good."

"I'll drink anything, today was just a rubbish day," Misty said, handing him two glasses.

"Hey, you met me, can't be so bad then." The young man grinned.

"Like I said, rubbish." She smirked at him.

Brock held up his glass in a silent toast, Misty followed his example, and then they both gulped down their drinks.

Feeling the liquor burning down his throat, he held up the bottle again and looked at the girl questioningly.

"Some more?"

"Some more."

* * *

"And then, then she said…" Misty burst out laughing again, not able to complete her sentence. Despite that nothing funny was said yet, Brock roared with her.

"What- what did she say?" he hiccupped, taking another gulp. Usually he could hold his liquor pretty good, but somehow, tonight was different. Maybe the drinks had been stronger than he had first thought.

"There's a mouse in my pants!" the redhead exclaimed, then got in another fit of laughing.

Brock dropped on his knees in front of her, and a big grin appeared on his face as his hand started to feel her legs. "What, where's that mouse?"

"Not- not in my pants," she said between giggles. "That's what she said. And that tickles!" She slapped his hand away.

"Oooh, that tickles eh?"Brock grinned at her, momentarily seeing the room spin. Then he started to tickle her sides.

"Does that tickle too?" He laughed again, and didn't need an answer when Misty fell in another fit of giggles. The drunk girl fell forward from her chair, on top of him. Not being able to keep his balance, Brock fell backwards on the carpet.

"I'll take my revenge," she slurred, starting to tickle him.

"No way." He grinned, and then looked in her eyes.

That was a mistake.

Her movements froze, and even in his intoxicated state, he realized how close they were. Their noses were almost touching.

"I really like you," Misty muttered, her eyes not really able to focus on his face.

"I really like you too," he replied. _This was great, this was awesome, this was fucking fantastic, _he thought.

When she leaned in to kiss him, a small voice in his head suddenly spoke up. _No,_ it said. _No, this shouldn't happen. Not like this. She'll regret it tomorrow._

Even though the voice had spoken very quietly, and he knew he could just ignore it, Brock found he couldn't.

"No," he whispered, already feeling her breath on his lips. For safety, he pushed her softly away.

"What, why?" she replied confused.

"We shouldn't," Brock muttered. He found it hard to form coherent sentences. "You would… regret it tomorrow."

"I wouldn't," Misty said, certainty in her voice.

"You would," he repeated, getting up, leaving her sitting on the floor.

"I wouldn't," she whined a bit.

With a sigh, he shook his head. "You would."

"Ugh," she said, falling on her back. For a moment, Brock wondered what he should say to her. A moment later, he realized he didn't need to say anything anymore, as a loud snore came from the girl.

He grinned without knowing why, then easily lifted up the girl, got upstairs and put her in his bed.

How he safely got to the couch downstairs, he didn't know, and he didn't care either. Getting comfortable on the small couch, he thought about Misty, and how one little accident could change so much. He had slipped, and now there was a pretty girl sleeping in his bed. Admittedly, he wasn't sleeping next to her, but _she_ was sleeping in _his _bed.

Brock closed his eyes, a small smile on his face. A last thought occurred to him, just before he drifted off to sleep.

_This could either be the worst or the best decision I've ever made._

* * *

A pounding headache woke him up the next morning. _Ouch, _he thought. Getting up from the couch, he tried to remember what happened.

Oh yeah.

Misty.

Suddenly he had much more energy and hastened upstairs, to see if the girl was still sleeping. She wasn't. In fact, after a quick search, he found out that she had left.

Feeling more disappointed than he could explain, he walked back in the kitchen to clean up. Putting the only full bottle – from the five they started with – back in the fridge, he noticed something.

A small post-it stuck on the white door of the fridge.

_I wouldn't_

_562-308-9053_

That was all that was written on it. No thanks, no apologies, no goodbye… Yet Brock couldn't feel happier than he did now. It was perfectly Misty – short, clear and to the point.

Staring at the post-it, he felt a big grin form on his face.

He was in love.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave me some feedback in a REVIEW!  
Thanks again!


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